Great Britain -- History -- Barons' War, 1263-1267 -- Fiction
Earl Simon would have none of it at first. Perhaps he doubted their
honesty; yet the two women contrived to convince him, Marpasse sly and
valiant, Denise with the quiet eyes of one who has chosen a certain
part.
De Montfort appeared puzzled by Denise. Marpasse saw the look, and broke
in in her blunt, bold way:—
“She is not of my clay, sire, but we were baked in the same oven. She
has seized this trick of mine, and will not let it out of her hands.”
“Is that so, child?”
Denise’s eyes met his.
“I am not afraid, sire,” she answered.
The Earl still shirked accepting a possible sacrifice. Marpasse put in a
final word.
“Though it be to my shame, lord,” she said, “I have learnt how to tread
among thorns. There is only one thing that I would ask, and that is the
right to choose the man who shall take us within two miles of Lewes
town.”
She flashed a look at Denise as though to silence her, and went close to
De Montfort’s horse. A smile came over his face as he listened to
Marpasse, and there was sadness in the smile, and the quiet compassion
of a man who had held children in his arms.
“God guard you both,” he said, “it shall be as you desire.”
Aymery had command of the guard that evening at the manor house where
Simon, the Earl of Gloucester, and the great lords had their quarters.
Word was brought him by an esquire of De Montfort’s son Guy, that the
Earl was calling for him, and that Simon was to be found in the great
barn where the Bishop of Worcester was to preach to the lords and
gentlemen before sundown. Aymery found the Earl sitting on a barrow that
stood on the threshing floor, a knot of knights standing behind him, and
the evening sunlight that poured in striking silver burs from their
battle harness.
Simon looked straight into Aymery’s eyes as he gave him his orders.
“Go down to the yew tree near the pond where we water our horses,
messire. You will find two women waiting there. They have sworn to spy
out the land for us. Take a guide and ten spears, and see the women as
near to Lewes as you can without breaking cover.”
Earl Simon always eyed his men as though he were looking into the brain
behind the eyes. Aymery saluted, and turned to obey. His face betrayed
no surprise, though it was a new thing for De Montfort to rely on the
wits of two women.
Simon called him back.
“Wait, and keep watch in the woods,” he said, “the women will try to
bring back news. We shall be on the move before dawn.”
He rose from the barrow, and crossing the threshing floor, laid a hand
on Aymery’s shoulder.
“It is in my heart to catch the King napping to-morrow,” he said. “I
trust England with you, in this, and some of us may have to suffer.”
He stood considering something a moment, frowning a little, his hand
still on Aymery’s shoulder.
“The two women yonder, brave hearts, have talked me into suffering this.
I would not put such work upon a woman, but then, my son, we all carry
the Cross. Hasten, and God speed you.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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